Take Me Away From This Place
by particularly good finder
Summary: "His wrists were decorated with fine red lines, barely deep enough to hurt, but as Finn stood there he could see the blood bubbling to the surface, speckling the skin with dotted lines of the brightest, most beautiful crimson Kurt had ever seen."


Kurt, underneath his layers of ice and stone, was a whirlwind of pain and love and confusion. His porcelain shell couldn't protect him from the bitter sting of reality, or soften the blows to his fragile glass heart.

When he took the razor to his arm, he didn't see it as injury or destruction; it was art. His skin was paper – smooth, creamy, dull paper – and the blood was ink, twirling across its unorthodox canvas, dripping stains into the bathroom sink and bringing life to the dying boy.

It wasn't always his arms – though that was his favorite spot, the most delicate medium to work with. Sometimes he drew long, slow lines down his legs, sucking in air greedily as he watched the pools of crimson flood the untainted water of his bath. Even once or twice he worked with his stomach, but not often – the flesh there was flabby and unattractive, and he hated to look at it. It wasn't beautiful; the cuts were.

Finn wasn't very bright, but he wasn't oblivious. He could see the strain of life bearing down on his stepbrother, especially in the aftermath of the wedding, and he knew something was wrong. If only they could afford to send Kurt to that fancy Dalton school with his new buddy – Zane, Blair, something like that – so he could be safe, but it just wasn't in their budget. It didn't matter, though – Kurt would be hard-pressed to just leave all his friends behind.

At dinner one night, after a particularly nasty incident with Azimio in the hall that resulted with a broken nose for Kurt and a black eye and detention for Finn, Finn observed Kurt with a quiet fascination. Kurt was silent – unnoticed by their parents, who were too deep into their own conversation – and kept biting down on his lip, almost hard enough to split the surface altogether. His food went untouched, and his fingers kept trailing to his left forearm, digging deep into the skin.

As Kurt escaped upstairs, claiming a headache, Finn went after him, ignoring his mother's insistence to leave his brother alone. There was a dull gnawing in the pit of Finn's stomach, a sixth sense itching up his spine; he was almost scared to see what was on the other side of Kurt's bedroom door.

But he barged into the room at any rate, a silent, unmoving, powerful force of worry and brotherly duty. Kurt wasn't even surprised.

Instead, he just looked up at Finn, blue-green eyes wide and pleading and ringed with gaunt black shadows. His wrists were decorated with fine red lines, barely deep enough to hurt, but as Finn stood there he could see the blood bubbling to the surface, speckling the skin with dotted lines of the brightest, most beautiful crimson Kurt had ever seen.

Finn knelt by his brother, taking hold of his wrist. Rachel would have grabbed it roughly, fussing and bemoaning Kurt's weakness and selfishness as she stemmed the blood flow. Mercedes would have been afraid to touch, instead opting to call every she knew to help her fix her boo. Blaine – one of his closest friends these days – would have gallantly bandaged Kurt's wrist without a word, but the disappointed look in his eye would be haunting and heart crushing. Finn, though – Finn took his brother's wrist so gently and carefully, as to not disturb the open wound. He looked at it like a puppy would examine a new object, with confusion and innocence on his face.

Slowly, tenderly, he pulled Kurt from the ground, and led him to the bathroom. Wordlessly, Finn washed away the blood and dabbed on some ointment, then stood there awkwardly, staring at his brother. Kurt looked away, shame in his eyes.

Finn leaned down, cupping both of Kurt's cheeks in his hands. His callouses were rough on Kurt's soft, blushing face, and his scent of laundry detergent and cheap aftershave was pungent in the sweet-smelling bathroom, but his lips were warm and careful against Kurt's forehead. Kurt closed his eyes, one hand closing over Finn's, the other resting on his brother's elbow. Kurt sank to his knees, pulling Finn down with him.

Intertwined so privately on the floor of a lonely upstairs bathroom, their position was compromising, but neither cared. Kurt collapsed into the arms of his brother, fingers raking at the boy's plaid shirt, tears finally springing from his eyes. Finn tightened his grip, murmuring into the small boy's hair, placing kisses against his temple and rubbing away the tension in the small of his back.

Shards of guilt and pain and worry cut into Finn's being, and he feels everything he knew and counted on in life seep from his skin, pooling on the ground surrounding him and Kurt. Without the schema of normality, he was lost and afraid. In a moment of panic, he fell onto the pristine white tiles of the bathroom floor, tears running down his face. Kurt buried himself deeper into Finn's chest.

And then an angry, snarling beast erupted from Finn's stomach, and he sat up with resolution in his heart and tears on his cheeks. He stood and pulled Kurt from the ground, dusting him off and pushing his bangs from his face. He gripped Kurt's arms, pressing their foreheads together, determination blazing in his eyes and fangs dripping with saliva and thirsting for blood.

"You'll be okay."

He took Kurt's wrist and presses a sweet, brief kiss to the rows of cuts, old and new. Then, with a look of caring that had once belonged to baby Drizzle, he pulled his brother from the room, and down the stairs to where their parents were watching a movie.

That night, in the darkened living room as some comedy played on the screen, the brothers made a silent pact. Kurt brushed some dirt from Finn's jaw, and Finn settled his hand on Kurt's waist, rubbing his hip with a slow, careful rhythm.

The cool, sharp metal of his beloved razors had nothing on the clumsy touch of his brother's hand, Kurt decided. The release he felt when his blood flowed freely couldn't hold a candle to the calm serenity of Finn's presence.

Finn and Kurt fell asleep wrapped around each other like kittens searching for warmth in the cold night. And in the morning they woke up, knowing what it truly meant to be brothers.


End file.
